


Ashes of Time

by Renata Lord (snowlight)



Series: Killing You Softly [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood Magic, Bloodlust, M/M, Marking, Rituals, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowlight/pseuds/Renata%20Lord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to "Brothers in Sin". Koltira returns from the battlefield and has a surprise for the weakened Thassarian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes of Time

The red mist burned.

One forceful and well-aimed slice across the throat was all it took. Hot, pungent blood geysered out from the ice troll and splashed all over Koltira's face, dripping down from his hair and eyelashes. The death knight blinked and licked his lips. Troll blood tasted of smoldering ash.

The troll's body collapsed with a thud, writhing on the ground in a grotesque pantomime. Koltira plunged his sword into that heap of flesh and paused, waiting for the glistening runes to drain the remaining life energy out from the vanquished. Already another troll had caught his eye: a freakishly large creature, bellowing on the red hill just above him, one trunk-like arm drooping down with a bulging mace. 

The sword hummed. Koltira licked his lips again, and leapt.

*

Rage did not come naturally to Koltira, and he had seldom indulged in the sweetness of killing frenzy. Yet on that battlefield he allowed his runeblade to take over, yielding to the thirst which consumed him. As the battle ended and the dead were disposed, however, another hunger resurfaced in him stronger still.

And it led him back here, to the recovery room's door, back to Thassarian.

"You look like hell, Koltira."

Thassarian grinned at him. They had seen each other like this often enough—drenched in blood and smelling of somebody else's insides. At least this time one of them looked well-rested, yet Koltira shuddered inwardly when he saw Thassarian's body. His fingers itched to touch, to rake, and to burn.

Thassarian moved off the bed and sauntered toward him with unsteady grace. Koltira stood still, almost transfixed, until a familiar hand ghosted over his left cheek--and his body responded with startling violence. 

He caught Thassarian's wrist in a grip and had to stop himself from crushing those bones. He had wanted to kill this human once, and his body remembered that desire well, far better than the mind which was seduced and broken through.

"Shallow cut. It will heal," he finally murmured and released Thassarian's wrist. "Go lie down."

Thassarian shot him a look but said nothing. The human turned back and spread himself over the bed, looking up at him mutely. Koltira shed most of his armor as he approached, the pieces hitting the ground in careless clangs. The runeblade he carefully rested against the bed's headboard, within his arm's reach.

He knelt down by Thassarian's sides, examining the body beneath him. Blood still seeped through the edges of the wound, though the stitches seemed to be holding. He hesitated before reaching out to visit the point of entry, where the enemy's sword had first rammed through the flesh. Thassarian shivered under his touch, and for a moment Koltira thought he could feel the beating of a human heart. Yet he had never known Thassarian's heartbeat, nor would he ever.

"Do you trust me?" he asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

Under his fingers, Thassarian froze for the briefest of moments. Then the human tilted his head up and gave him a small smile: "Ever in death."

"Then be very still," Sitting on his heels, Koltira leaned back and grabbed his runeblade with one hand. "Unless you want to go back to the necromancers."

*

If there was ever a shimmer of uncertainty in Koltira, it evaporated when he drew the first blood. As the tip of the blade broke through the skin, blood gushed out anew. He had to fight the urge to lean down and lick at it--to see if Thassarian's blood, too, would taste of ash. 

Beneath him, the human made neither sound nor move. _I could kill him like this,_ a distant voice pushed in his mind. There were a dozen times when he could have ended Thassarian, whether in the heat of battle or in the nakedness of sex. None of them felt as real as this, however, with Thassarian spread out underneath his bloodied blade, armorless and unresisting.

He shut his eyes.

_"Anar'alah belore..."_

In one swift motion, Koltira Deathweaver plunged the sword through Thassarian's chest. He savored that moment’s every sound—the flesh being ripped apart, the bones bowing to the steel, the blood splattering all over his hands. And yes, the scream. No different than the screams he'd heard that day in Silvermoon.

So Koltira let his runeblade dug in deep, deeper and deeper still. _This is how you cut me down, Thass._ The words caught in his throat, bitter and heavy as iron. _This is how I sounded as I died under your sword._

Koltira gave one final thrust with the sword, then gripped the edge with both palms.

He had witnessed it before, when he first experimented on the necromancer who taught him this ritual. Yet as his blood oozed down the blade, the sight of undead runes coming to life was still no less wondrous to behold. Blue sparks spilled into the air, crackling like echoes of thunder. 

_"With runes thee I bind, with steel thee I chain, with blood thee I claim...."_

The rune sparks fell onto Thassarian's skin, luminescent blue burning through the crimson. As those dead troll's life energy rushed through the blade, the blood flow stopped, and a runic sigil slowly spread its tendrils across the pale human skin. That sigil glowed with a singular ferocity, so brightly that for a moment Koltira could see nothing before him. He smelled the smoke rising from his hands, but he did not let go. 

As the heat dissipated, he removed the sword and threw it to the ground. His hands were still bleeding, though he no longer felt anything at all. The gaping wound had vanished, and the runes had weaved a brilliant blue pattern upon Thassarian’s chest. 

Koltira stared at his creation, mesmerized.

When he finally reached out to touch, Thassarian stirred under his blackened fingertips. In the blink of an eye the human dragged him down onto the bed and sprang on top of him, agile as a wolf. Thassarian’s eyes gleamed icy blue, but within them there was a savage fervor that Koltira had never before seen.

“Who taught you this?” hissed Thassarian. “Answer me!”

“The same one who taught you. I killed him, if you are wondering.” 

For a moment Koltira thought Thassarian was going to punch him, instead Thassarian kissed him violently, all teeth and no gentility. Callous fingers tugged at his hair, and a hand slammed him into the bed. The wooden device creaked and sounded like it was going to cave in.

“You—“ Thassarian muttered incoherently between the kisses, “I—I can’t—"

*

It was the bloodlust talking, siphoned from all those fallen souls. Koltira wrapped his legs around his partner’s waist and rose up to meet him, grinding and writhing like a water snake. Thassarian let go of his hair, and Koltira watched as the human roughly palmed his balls with one hand while pinching his thigh with another. The pain was sharp and simple, the good kind of sting that left him wanting more.

“Suck me,” he gasped. 

Thassarian didn’t answer, only gripped his legs and lifted them higher. Koltira didn’t have time to adjust before Thassarian lowered his head and took the elf’s half-hard cock into his mouth. Those harsh lips engulfed Koltira, and he tried to thrust into the wetness, to fill Thassarian up with himself. But Thassarian held his hips tight and continued at a merciless pace, coarse beard scraping against his perineum. Instead of the usual teasing licks, Thassarian lashed at him with his tongue, taking all of him down deep throat. Judging from the noises he might have gagged, but Koltira was beyond caring.

When he came he screamed, his upper body arching off the bed and every toe curling up in debilitating pleasure. The human sounded absolutely obscene as he milked him down to the last drop.

He parted his legs willingly, as wide as they would go. Yet when Thassarian entered him without any preparation, Koltira had to scream again. Pain pierced through the haze of afterglow, and his whole body spasmed in a quake. Thassarian moved deep and slow, each push burying himself whole inside the elf’s body, his heavy balls slapping against Koltira’s thighs. 

For a long while there was only pain. Koltira’s head rolled back as Thassarian drove into him relentlessly, wringing inchoate sobs out from him. But Thassarian started to jerk his cock with tight, sure strokes; and somewhere along the edge of consciousness, the pain morphed into something like pleasure. His whimpers bled into moans, keening sounds colored with want. For the first time in years Koltira felt the need to simply _breathe_ , to escape from his own body and surrender.

But he had already surrendered long ago, and ever since.

He came first. When Thassarian finally spilled inside him, Koltira twisted his hips and urged the human on wordlessly. Thassarian rippled and shivered, fingers digging hard into his skin. The newly made runic sigil on his chest gleamed in the wintry dusk, the proof of Koltira’s claim. 

Thassarian reached out to kiss him once more, this time far more gently. Opening his mouth, Koltira tasted himself on those lips—he, too, tasted of ashes.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Maze's birthday. The runic sigil idea belongs to Hex. Incidentally, has nothing to do with the classic Chinese movie "Ashes of Time" (1994).


End file.
